Summer 2025 Tour

Phosphorescent

with Rich Ruth

About Phosphorescent

“I got tired of sadness/ I got tired of all the madness/ I got tired of bein’ a badass all the time,” Matthew Houck sings on “Revelator,” the opener and title track of his latest Phosphorescent album. Houck was actively looking for something new, an epiphany, when the old ways stopped working. And just as the album Revelator only revealed itself to its author along the way, so too did real life revelations take their time answering the plaintive mission statement with which Houck reintroduces Phosphorescent.

The last time we heard from Phosphorescent, it was after a five year gap between Houck’s 2013 breakthrough Muchacho and 2018’s C’est La Vie. His life had changed drastically: He had left New York City for Nashville, had children, survived a nearly fatal bout of meningitis, and re-built his recording studio from the ground up. Now, another half decade has passed, a period that while quieter, has proven no less complex, with Houck traversing murkier spaces and the blurry mists of time.

“This record is a lot more open-ended and ephemeral,” Houck explains, noting the more plainly autobiographical documentation of C’est La Vie has been upended by something less knowable, more unsettled. The underlying melancholy of Phosphorescent’s music remains, reframed by the weird headspace of long-term fallouts from the last few years. Revelator might promise a fresh outlook, another horizon, but first the album wrestles with an ongoing, ambient sense of dread.

After a bit of pandemic dormancy, Houck first revived Phosphorescent for The Full Moon Project in 2022. Each month, on the full moon, he released a cover of a song from an eclectic selection of artists like Randy Newman, Nick Lowe, Nina Simone and Tom T. Hall, getting back in the groove of making music in his Nashville studio. The Full Moon recordings did the trick, shaking the cobwebs loose: After the downtime of the pandemic, Revelator suddenly happened fast. Houck underwent a few writing retreats, renting himself a room across town then rejoining his family for the weekend. Though it only took six months to write and record, it wasn’t an easy birth: Revelator made Houck confront his usual tendencies toward self-doubt, amplified by his own questions about what sort of album he was making.

In the end, Revelator points the way to a poignant outcome. It’s an album of elegant gravity and “the grand sadness in life” — perennial Phosphorescent subject matter, by Houck’s estimation. In some ways, Revelator extends seamlessly from the story begun by Muchacho and continued by C’est La Vie. It finds Houck further mastering his unique blend of ragged, experiment-y classicism intertwined with ethereal, lachrymose atmospherics. Across Revelator, Houck sings from a woozy, worn headspace, but leads us to a place where dreams and reality mingle. Anxieties about the future — both personal and global — air alongside stray memories. Surprisingly profound (yet still raunchy) messages scrawled on a men’s room wall sit next to moments of reclaimed wonder, with Houck seeing the world anew through his children’s eyes.

While Revelator remained a mystery even to Houck for some time, you can see a clear arc unfold across its nine songs. “Revelator” works as an overture, setting the stakes for Phosphorescent’s next chapter, and forecasting some of the conclusions reached after the winding journey of the subsequent eight songs. For the first time, Houck sings someone else’s song on a Phosphorescent album, after his partner Jo Schornikow wrote “The World Is Ending,” a wryly bleak song that communicated a lot of the same things Houck had been feeling. After the newfound warmth of settling down on C’est La Vie, “Fences” and “Impossible House” use domestic imagery not as idylls, but as mechanisms of distance, grappling with the challenges of maintaining long-term partnerships. Though C’est La Vie was never quite as happy as some suggested, Revelator is notably more conflicted, wracked. The song “Wide As Heaven” originated in a dream in which Houck found himself in a crumbling warehouse surrounded by people from different chapters of his life, the song playing over the speakers. “Why does heaven make me feel so sad?” Houck asks, his voice nearly breaking. It’s one of the more dangerous questions we can ask ourselves: What happens when you have a seemingly perfect life, and the darkness still lingers?

By the time Revelator closes with “To Get It Right,” Houck hasn’t necessarily found an answer, but at least has resolved to keep searching for one. Sprawling out over seven minutes, “To Get It Right” is the latest Phosphorescent epic that leaves you just a bit transformed by its conclusion. After all these songs that show us how we can disappear from ourselves — how we drift from the people we love, how we lose sight of things we once knew — “To Get It Right” is a reclamation, the moment where you find your way back to some core truths while still carrying what you learned along the way.

“I like that the record restrains itself the entire time until the last song lays it all out there,” Houck says. “I needed it to have some strength, to not quit. I needed it to say: ’Yeah, we got this.’”

About Rich Ruth

Rich Ruth, the recording project of Nashville multi-instrumentalist Michael Ruth, makes wholly immersive instrumental songs that thread the line between gleefully adventurous and calmingly meditative. His music starts in solitude with mesmerizing loops and drones anchoring the arrangements that are eventually colored in by an eclectic cast of collaborators. The resulting exploratory compositions, which combine spiritual jazz, synth-infused post-rock, and cosmic ambient, often beguile but they always soar with a palpable immediacy. His new album Water Still Flows is both his heaviest and his most cathartic. Across seven songs, the LP is both a document of an artist stretching the limits of his process and a testament to how songwriting can be a personally grounding force. With his foray into ambient recordings starting with his 2019 LP Calming Signals and his acclaimed 2022 album I Survived, It’s Over, Ruth has firmly established himself alongside peers like William Tyler and Luke Schneider as one of Nashville’s foremost experimentalists. “There are so many amazing musicians in Nashville that I think a lot of people finally had time and energy to focus on doing things that were a little more outside the box,” says Ruth. “If I analyze it, it’s more that the Nashville music community I grew up with is getting older, settling down, andfeeling quieter. The nature of people that are good at music is that they’re probably drawn toweirder things.”
Water Still Flows came out of a period of transience for Ruth. “All of this was written when I was on tour all the time,” says Ruth. “Up until late November of last year, I was basically on the road for almost two years straight—mostly with SG Goodman and playing my own music as much as I could.” Unmoored from waking up in a different city every day, he’d spend what little free time he had on breaks crafting enveloping drones at his home studio. While these were skeletons of fleshed-out songs, they served more as therapeutic exercises to find his footing away from tour. “It was this weird space between feeling inherently restless and anxious from traveling all the time but also being grateful to have some space to work on new music,” he says. As Ruth decompressed from his traveling, he found himself gravitating towards the heavy metal
he loved growing up. “I wanted to take these elements of doom, stoner, drone-metal—the heavy music I’ve always loved—into what I’m already doing with jazz, ambient, and kraut rock,” he says. “When you compare spiritual jazz with metal, those two things aren’t that different. It’s a heavy, visceral riff with a lot of psychedelic qualities swirling around it.” Take the way “Crying In the Trees” gradually builds to a thunderous, hysterical peak. In the track, pummeling guitars from Ruth counter Mikaela Davis’ plaintive harp playing. As the arrangement reaches its boiling point, a frenetic and relentless saxophone from Sam Que allows the track to hit something close to transcendence.

While Water Still Flows hits ferocious intensity, it’s still an inviting record. On the hypnotic leadsingle “No Muscle, No Memory,” Ruth encapsulates everything the record does well. There are kinetic atmospherics that meld electronic and organic textures seamlessly. Within songs, they can turn drastically from patient, ethereal beauty to a searing squall.
“The Rich Ruth chapter of my creativity has always kind of straddled those two things,” says Ruth. “There’s always this
calming spirit to making the music. It’s always felt like a pretty therapeutic zone but on the other side, my brain is filled with anxiety and just moving all the time, which inevitably creeps into it.”

This blend is tangible on “Aspiring T o The Sky,” where a mellow thrum of chimes quickly morphs into a spiritual blend of fiery horns and clanging percussion. Recorded at Ruth’s home studio and mixed by Jake Davis (William Tyler, Skyway Man), Water Still Flows reflects his unwavering devotion to collaboration. Its seven tracks are peppered with marquee collaborators, which alongside the aforementioned Davis and Que, include pedal steel player Spencer Cullum, drummer Ruben Gingrich, violinist Patrick M’gonigle, saxophonist Jared Selner, and more. “Working with people who are just better musicians than me, or play drastically different instruments like harp and saxophone, opens up millions of new pathways of
where the music can be taken,” says Ruth. “I’ll stitch a narrative out of these improvisational ideas but letting these players do whatever they want without parameters creates a much more unpredictable and interesting thing.”

To Ruth, Water Still Flows, which takes its title from a translation of a Li Bai poem called “A Farewell To Secretary Shuyun,” has become a sort of mantra. “It’s a good reset phrase remembering the fluidity and consistency of life no matter your anxiety or how you get bogged down,” he says. “Sometimes I get in my head about my own creativity. Sometimes I have doubts or wonder if I’m going to lose these creative sparks as I get older. But they always come back
and I always find inspiration with the people around me. Music is always gonna be there.”